


Out of Armor

by Isis



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dwarven Carta (Dragon Age), Friendship, Gen, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-12-27 22:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: Malika Cadash, on her own in a Ferelden tavern, meets an old friend from her Carta days.





	Out of Armor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).

Cassandra was overseeing the repairs being made to her shield by the town blacksmith. Sera had gone off to look for an herb that, according to her “friends,” would improve the blast radius of one of her bomb recipes. Solas had discovered a rare book about the Fade at a merchant’s, and so Malika had bought it for him; now he was sitting under a tree, avidly devouring it.

Which meant that she was finally, blessedly, alone. 

Well, not alone, exactly, as there were others in the tavern, but it was a small tavern in an obscure Ferelden town, and none of the other patrons of the place paid her any attention. Which was exactly what she wanted. She took a long drink of her mug of ale, and sighed with pleasure. Here in this small town, with her companions off on their own errands and her glowing green hand shoved into a pocket, she was completely anonymous. 

Not that she was unhappy with her life as the Inquisitor – it was just that there was so much to _do._ So much she was responsible for. Everyone in Skyhold looked to her for answers, even those who knew so much more than she did about things like diplomacy and spycraft and war. It was flattering, sure, but it left her constantly second-guessing her own decisions, worried that she’d overlooked something important, convinced that she had fallen short of their expectations. But here she could drink her ale and pretend she was just another surface dwarf, and nobody would ask her for advice or expect her to lead them into battle. Nobody around even knew her na– 

“Malika Cadash! By the Stone, it _is_ you!”

A dwarf with a curly mop of black hair and a short, neat beard was making his way across the tavern toward her, and despite her chagrin at discovering she wasn’t anonymous after all, she had to grin, because – 

“Oskar Slove,” she said, raising her mug in his direction. “It’s been – I was going to say years, but it’s only been a little more than a year, hasn’t it.” It was astonishing when she realized how much her life had changed in that time. The last time she’d seen Oskar had been months before she’d been sent to the Conclave. “I thought you were in Antiva.”

“I _was_ in Antiva,” he agreed, taking a seat at her table. “But you know the Dasher. He sees an opportunity, he moves his people around so he can take advantage of it.”

Her skepticism at this showed on her face, she was sure. “An opportunity in the Fereldan Hinterlands?”

“An opportunity in...well, I’m not sure I should tell you. You’re out of the Carta now, or so I hear.”

“That’s true.” She put her drink down on the table in front of her, in case she needed a hand free to grab one of her daggers. “What else have you heard?” 

He laughed. “Easy, _salroka_. If you’re thinking I’m going to jump you for the lyrium you supposedly stole – no, calm down, the Dasher’s said you’re clear on that front. I’m only saying that I’ve _heard_ you’ve got other loyalties now. Though I can’t understand why you, of all people, would want to work for the Chantry,” he added, scratching his head. “I mean, in a way that’s our competition, right? You didn’t get religion all of a sudden, did you?”

“You know me better than that,” she said, picking up her drink again. “The Chantry’s for humans. And anyway, I don’t work for the Chantry, I work for the Inquisition.” 

It was a fine distinction, of course. And she felt a bit unfair saying it, because Cassandra and Leliana, who were both firm Andrastians, seemed convinced that she, Malika Cadash, a dwarf and former Carta operative, was somehow touched by their Maker. 

Sometimes, when she’d been talking with Mother Giselle – or when she was really, really drunk – she wondered if she believed them, just a little bit.

Oskar shrugged. “Chantry, Inquisition, all the same to me. We both deal in lyrium – it’s just that _we_ make a profit from it.” He raised a bushy black eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you’d want to–”

“No.”

He grinned and held up a hand. “Don’t get your chainmail in a bunch. Can’t blame me for asking.” He took a swig of his own ale. “I guess I’m surprised you’d want to work for them. Or that they’d want to have dwarves around.”

“For your information, the Inquisition has plenty of non-humans. Dwarves, elves, even Qunari.” _Why, even the Inquisitor herself is a dwarf._ Prudently, she did not say that last part out loud. She was being anonymous, after all. 

Though no doubt the Dasher had his spies. Maybe Oskar already knew, and she was just fooling herself, thinking she could pass for a foot soldier in the Inquisition. Maybe this was no chance meeting. Ugh, she was thinking like Leliana. This was Oskar. They had been good friends back when they worked out of the same branch of the Carta. He was a canny trader and a good fighter, but he wasn’t a spy. 

“I can’t believe it pays very well,” said Oskar.

“Well enough. All right, not as well as the Carta.”

“In that case,” said Oskar, “the next drink’s on me.”

He drained his mug, and Malika drained hers, and he signaled for the server to refill them. When both of them had fresh drinks, he leaned back in his chair and took a long pull from his mug, then wiped the foam from his mustache with the back of a hand. “So, if it’s not faith, and it’s not coin, why do you work for them?”

She looked over the rim of her mug at him. “Did the Dasher put you up to this? Does he want me to come back?”

Oskar snorted. “You think I’d sell you out? He’s taken off the mark on you, but he hasn’t forgotten. Or forgiven, I expect.”

“I didn’t take his lyrium!”

“And you really think that matters, at this point? You know what he’s like.”

“True.” She drank her ale and considered. She had worked for the Dasher for years. But she had never felt any personal loyalty to the Carta in general, or its leader; she was only loyal to her family, the scattered remnants of House Cadash, along with the few close friends she’d made over the years. Oskar was not a Cadash, but one of his cousins had married one of hers, and though that didn’t make them family, exactly, it had given their friendship a jumping-off point. 

“But he’s not going to come after you unless you give him cause,” he went on. “So if what they said was true, that you were counting on the Inquisition’s muscle to protect you, you don’t need to hide behind them any more. You’re clever, and you’re frighteningly good with those daggers of yours. I’m sure you could find work anywhere in Thedas. So, why the Inquisition?”

He did sound only curious, thought Malika. And she supposed she’d be the same, if their situations were reversed: if she’d just come back from Antiva with her ears full of rumor and gossip about her old friend Oskar, the sole survivor of the mysterious explosion at the Conclave.

“Well,” she said slowly, “it started out because I didn’t have much choice. The Dasher may have thought I’d stolen his lyrium, but the Chantry thought I’d blown up the Conclave and killed their Divine. Which I didn’t, in case you’re wondering. But it turned out that this was all related to, well, other stuff.”

“The fade rifts,” said Oskar.

“You know about the fade rifts?”

“Heard about them when I was coming down across northern Ferelden. Saw the edge of one, too, some green shimmery stuff? People said to keep clear, that demons came out of them. Merchant in Redcliffe they said there had been rifts there, but the Inquisition had closed them.”

“Right.” She made a mental note to ask Scout Harding to locate the rifts on the northern coast of Ferelden. “So, that’s what I’ve been doing. Helping close the rifts and kill the demons.” She shrugged. “I mean, it’s the right thing to do. Don’t want those demons running around.” _Better leave out __the anchor, and __Corypheus, and, __oh,__ the possible imminent end of the world. _

Oskar looked amused. “Never knew you to care about doing the right thing.”

“I didn’t use to care about it,” she said. “But the people I work with, the Chantry people and the ones who just came to help, they cared. And I started caring about them. I mean, the Dasher had put out a hit on me. My friends and family were keeping their distance. So I made new friends. Working with the Chantry people, and with the others who came to work for the Inquisition, I guess I got to seeing things their way. Not about Andraste and the Maker and all that. But about keeping everyone safe.”

He nodded. “You and me, we were both born into the Carta. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to be cut off. I’m glad you’ve got new people.”

_Me, too._

The door to the inn banged. “There you are!” called Sera. _And, speaking of..._ “Come on, Cassandra’s done with her shield thing and itching to get back, and Elfy won’t budge until you get your arse out of this tavern.” She looked pointedly at Oskar. “Or am I interrupting something? That one’s too beardy for me.”

Malika winced, but Oskar only said, “I take it that’s one of your new friends?”

“They’re not all like that, really.” She drained her mug, set it down on the table, and stood. “Thanks for the drink.”

Oskar stood as well. “It was good seeing you again, _salroka_.”

“Likewise.” She shook his hand, then on impulse, said, “And if you ever want a new job, come to Skyhold.”

“Thanks, but I’m happy where I am.”

“I was too, but sometimes you don’t have the choice. Just saying, we’ll take you in. Could always use another strong fellow with a waraxe.”

From the doorway, Sera rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, come work for the Inquisition, go to stinky muddy places, meet terrifying demons and kill them. Now can we get a move on?”

“Well, _that_ makes it sound appealing,” he said, and they both laughed. “Take care of yourself, Malika.”

“You, too. All right, Sera, I’m coming!” 

It had been pleasant to put aside the role of Inquisitor, if only for a short time. Like taking off a heavy suit of armor. But as she followed Sera out into the dappled afternoon sunlight and toward the spreading maple tree where Cassandra and Solas waited for her, it felt good, she thought, to put it back on again.


End file.
